


you suck my brains out

by mercuryhatter



Series: wild for her drabbles [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, mention of alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and when I say "you suck my brains out" the English translation is "I love you"</p>
            </blockquote>





	you suck my brains out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [truethingsproved](https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/gifts).



> prompt: Granjolras kisses, first I love yous, sexytimes optional. the headcanon about the Ani DiFranco song is all Dusky.

The words “I love you” were not words that the two of them commonly used. It had happened once, while Grantaire was spectacularly, worryingly drunk, and if it had been anyone else that might have diminished the words’ power, but Enjolras already knew him far too well to confuse inebriation with insincerity. At the time, Grantaire was still learning how to be a person at all without alcohol; alcohol was his blood and brains and at least a quarter of his bones, so when his fists were balled into Enjolras’ shirt for support and the words were tumbling messily out on a wave of absinthe-stained breath, Enjolras believed them. He believed them, but Grantaire was too drunk to even stand on his own, much less hold a conversation, and so Enjolras stole the keys to his motorcycle and put him to bed on the couch, and then stayed up all night to make sure that Grantaire didn’t die in his sleep. The ensuing hangover left him grumpy and withdrawn for days, but his words to Enjolras were never mentioned, and Enjolras wasn’t even sure that Grantaire could clearly remember having said them.  
  
That was one of his his last and biggest binges, and after that it wasn’t ever “I love you.” It was sideways glances and kisses that were too expressive to truly hide the meaning of, it was shared cigarettes that Enjolras never smoked himself, just tugged Grantaire over by the hand so that he would breath the smoke into Enjolras’ mouth with practiced ease. Then Grantaire went through an Ani DiFranco phase of massive proportions (which was at least better than his Lana Del Rey phase, and Enjolras was secretly finding himself fond of the song “Napoleon”) and then it was “you suck my brains out.” The first time Grantaire said it it was uttered in low tones from somewhere around the vicinity of Enjolras’ bare hips, wearing his favorite crooked smile and very little else, with his hair an utter debauched mess under Enjolras’ clutching slim-fingered hand. Given the frequency with which that song had been played in the past month, it was impossible for the lyric to not complete itself in Enjolras’ head— “ _and when I say you suck my brains out the English translation is I love you_ ”— and he was going to do or say something to convey his comprehension before Grantaire reduced him to little more than a gasping cry and a pile of shuddering muscles.  
  
“Mine too,” he remembered to say, after they had both taken each other apart and pieced each other back together enough times to now be nothing but soft and warm against each other, lightly coated in a layer of sweat that stuck their skins together when they touched. Grantaire’s head was on his shoulder and he just smiled, tucking his face into the curve of Enjolras’ neck and leaving a kiss next to his collarbone before falling asleep there.  
  
It became their commonly accepted code, in good times and bad: Grantaire would never leave an argument without saying it, no matter how earthshakingly cruel they were being to each other. Even spat from a furious mouth, tinged red with sarcasm and black with bitterness, it still meant the same thing.  
  
 _the English translation is I love you_  
  
And then they’d been together for nearly two years, long enough that their friends very rarely worried when they fought anymore, and it was cliched and more romantic than Enjolras would ever admit but it felt like forever. So one night while Grantaire’s mouth was occupied with tonguing its way over the surgery scars across Enjolras’ chest, probing at his nipples and leaving little bites on his ribs, Enjolras tightened his fingers in Grantaire’s hair and plunged.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
No code or innuendo, no alcohol to lose the moment in, just clear and plain, even if the words were barely more than a whispered gasp. Grantaire froze against his chest.  
  
“What?”  
  
Enjolras made no reply; the world felt like it was made of glass and he couldn’t make himself react until Grantaire prompted him with his name, small and hopeful in his throat. Grantaire was always content to love him while imagining that he wasn’t reciprocated and that suddenly seemed massively unfair to Enjolras, so he tugged Grantaire up gently by his hair, guiding him to eye level, where he held his gaze for a long time.  
  
“I love you,” he said again, and this time it was clear and slow and unmistakable. He almost regretted not having said this every hour for the past two years at the way Grantaire’s eyes widened and his lips fell slack.  
  
“I love you too,” he said, and his voice was quiet, with a slight stammer to it, but the words and their meaning were sure. Grantaire was illuminated, and Enjolras had to lean forward to kiss him just to shield himself from the glow. Even with his eyes closed the kiss was almost more than he could handle, all the passion and devotion that Grantaire had ever possessed poured directly into Enjolras’ mouth. It left him utterly breathless, and when they fell apart Enjolras immediately flipped the both of them over to pin Grantaire beneath him, leaning down to devour him voraciously with questing lips and bruising fingertips. He licked over each word inked over Grantaire’s hip (“ _well I’m well well I mean I’m in hell if wellness is this what in god’s name is sickness?”_ ) before swallowing him whole to a chorus of encouraging gasps. Grantaire’s hands turned to white-knuckled fists in the sheets to either side of him as he struggled to keep himself still and when he climaxed it was a ragged shout, a spine curved as tight as a bowstring. Enjolras flicked his eyes up at that moment to catch his expression but his head was tossed back and his chest was curved up, but even the look on his face when he came down was radiant, and he was looking down at Enjolras as if he’d never want to look anywhere else. After a while, the crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he slid down to Enjolras’ level.  
  
“You suck my brains out,” he whispered, lips and tongue close against Enjolras’ ear, the double entendre fully and obviously intended. Enjolras gave him a wry smile in return and went to smack playfully at his curls, but somehow instead his hand ended up fisted in them and he was dragging him in for another kiss, rough, hot, messy, and close.  
  
“Mine too,” he responded, speaking directly into Grantaire’s mouth because neither of them wanted to pull away, so they simply stayed, naked and twined together, foreheads touching, breathing each other’s air until only carbon dioxide remained between their breathless lips.


End file.
